


Bits and Pieces

by devilsalwayscry



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Ficlet Collection, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Post-Canon, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2020-01-05
Packaged: 2020-03-29 10:23:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19017979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/devilsalwayscry/pseuds/devilsalwayscry
Summary: A collection of post-DMCV scenes focusing on the dysfunctional Devil May Cry family, specifically the reignited relationship between Dante and Vergil.(Fourth chapter: A new habit: Dante brings home sweet treats for Vergil to sample when he's gone on a job too long.)





	1. insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> This is meant as a dumping ground for unrelated ficlets and snippets that pop into my head, but don’t form into full fledged fics/scenes for my WIPs. Random pairings will definitely pop up, but the bulk will focus on Dante/Vergil.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante and Vergil both have terrible, awful sleeping habits.

Sometimes Vergil will forget to sleep for days at a time, and Dante will have to go to him in the middle of the night, throw his arms around his neck and pull him away from his laptop and his books with slow and steady kisses and words. “Even you and I need sleep sometimes, baby,” he will say, unguarded in his own exhaustion, dark circles under his eyes made all the more visible in the dim light of his room. Dante does not sleep well when Vergil is like this, lost in his own head and his thoughts, and eventually, both for his sake and Vergil’s, he will go to him and wear him down.

Vergil joins him in bed reluctantly, lies there stiffly and silently until Dante is able to ease the tension out of his shoulders with his words or his touch or his mouth. Once he succumbs to sleep, he sleeps like the dead, half days at a time—Dante always leaves him as long as he can, keeps work and guests away until he knows Vergil has finally started to awaken of his own volition, no matter how long it takes. (He can always tell—Vergil’s wakefulness washes over him like a calming wave, connected to him in a way he’d long forgotten about, but has been slowly rediscovering in time.)

Dante makes him breakfast on those mornings when he finally awakes, toasted frozen chocolate waffles, badly burnt bacon, and blackened toast. Cooking is new to him, but for the first time in his life he’s found a reason to care enough to bother with it, and so he struggles in the kitchen in the valiant effort to force food into his stubborn twin’s mouth. Vergil eats it with no complaint, so he figures he must be doing something right. 

His brother is the most radiant in those moments—rested and fed and content, the dark clouds of their troubled past chased out of his eyes by sleep and Dante’s affection. He is unguarded and open, unflinchingly returning Dante’s touches and kisses with gentle caresses of his own, rising to meet Dante’s quips and jokes with his own dry attempts at humor.

It will not last, it never does—Vergil will succumb to the memories the same as Dante does, will throw himself into their work and his research with the single-minded determination with which he approaches everything in life, but Dante will always be there to pull him back out of it. They do not have to face that darkness alone, not any more.

***

Dante dozes, stolen cat naps on the couch or his chair between fitful stretches of half-sleep at night. He doesn’t think he’s slept—really, truly slept—in twenty four years. When Vergil moves back into his life and his bed he sleeps better than he has in decades, but he doesn’t think he’ll ever really sleep through the night again, not after everything he’s been through.

And so he steals his sleep from where he can get it—Lady jokingly insists he might be narcoleptic, and if he weren’t a half-devil, she’d probably be right. His penchant for snatching precious minutes of sleep on everything and anything exasperates his companions, as if he is a child they are stuck looking out for. He wakes once at his desk to find himself tucked beneath Nero’s jacket, his nephew engaged in a conversation with Vergil across the room—when he sees that Dante is awake, his cheeks flush red, and he retrieves his coat with a quietly grumbled complaint about how careless Dante can be, that he’ll catch a cold if he just sleeps wherever he wants like that. (He won’t, of course—he’s never had a cold in his life. The gesture is sweet, all the same.)

Sometimes he falls asleep while reading a magazine on the couch and he wakes with his head in Trish’s lap, her fingers carded through his hair while she watches something on the small TV set that Lady had gifted him last winter. It’s an effortless and meaningless gesture on her part, but to him it feels like home, reminds him of late evenings on his family couch with his mother beneath him and his brother lying against him. He pretends to sleep longer, enjoying the easy and familial affection from her, even though he knows she knows he’s awake. She humors him anyway. 

More often than not, he wakes in his brother’s arms—one wrapped around his back, the other under his knees—as he carries him to their shared bedroom. It is ultimately a pointless gesture, and at first he felt humiliated; but then Vergil had looked down at him and his eyes had been soft and unguarded and Dante’d decided he would humor him in this. He pretends he is still asleep, as he used to when he was a child, when his father would carry them both to bed from wherever inopportune spot they had fallen asleep together. Vergil will tuck him into bed and he will catch his wrist in his hand when he turns to leave, pleading without words for his twin to stay; it works only half of the time, but when it does he greedily takes advantage of the affection. He nestles against Vergil's chest, tangles their legs together, and throws his arms around his neck, basking in the warmth of him, the irrefutable evidence that he’s alive. He gets his best sleep when Vergil allows him this indulgence, holds him without question and oversees his slumber with a watchful eye.

He doesn’t fault him for the times he pulls away: he knows it isn’t that Vergil does not want to hold him, knows that that sort of simple affection comes hard to him. They are both a work in progress, slowly learning each other’s needs and boundaries, and the knowledge that they do so together is enough for him to tolerate some of their rougher edges.


	2. librarian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon moving in to the Devil May Cry office, Vergil's first course of action is to properly organize Dante's library of books.

Vergil's first course of action upon moving into the Devil May Cry office is to organize Dante's library.

He uses the term library loosely when describing it, because it is less an organized collection and more a chaotic heap that spans the entirety of the shop. There are books in every room and on every surface. Books under his bed in boxes, books in the closet buried beneath the piles of clothing he no longer wears, books stashed in the empty cupboards in the kitchen. If there is anything he owns far too much of, it is books.

Some of them were gifts from fellow hunters. Others he drug from the remains of their childhood home, kept purely under the sentimental notion that they were a small part of his past life that he did not feel the need to discard. A majority of them he has read only once, although some--the poetry and the demonology, mostly--he has returned to regularly, for reference or for sentimental reasons both. 

Needless to say, he has perhaps more books than any one person should rightfully own, and absolutely no organization system for them. Vergil's decision to tackle that challenge head on is both impressive and a bit of a relief. It should keep him plenty busy, and Dante appreciates the help getting the place cleaned up now that he’s got a reason to keep it clean. 

There is a storage room in the back of the shop that he's never really used much. Until two days ago, he had filled it with broken amps and pool cues, boxes of bullets he doesn't need and a few demon bits. When Vergil had stated rather plainly that he was converting it into a library because "everything in there is trash," Dante hadn't put up a fight. It was a good idea. Having some kind of proper storage for all of the books meant that he'd be able to find shit he needed easier. Besides, anything non-destructive to keep Vergil busy was a win in Dante's book.

He's standing in the doorway to the newly converted library now with a steaming thermos of tea in one hand. Vergil is focused on his work of sorting the books and does not look up at Dante as he approaches, and so he takes a moment to just observe his twin. He is seated in the middle of the floor, dressed in pressed black slacks and a dark blue button down, always so formal even when he's only lounging around the house. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up to his elbows and the top two buttons are undone--by Vergil's standards, it is downright indecent. 

Dante makes a small noise of greeting as he enters the room, stepping carefully over the piles of books that are littered across the throw rug like landmines waiting to trip him. He manages to make it to the beat up old chaise lounge without knocking over any of Vergil's obsessive little piles, which is, quite honestly, a miracle. 

He sits the thermos of tea on the floor next to his twin before flopping back onto the lounge, his arms folded behind his head.

"Making any progress?" Dante asks, an experimental question to see how willing Vergil is to engage in a conversation while he works. This is how it is with him--sometimes he will ignore Dante's question, and Dante will just move on to something else; other times he will humor him, engaging in the rare and ever elusive small talk that Vergil seems so desperate to avoid.

Today must be Dante's lucky day, because Vergil grabs the thermos from the floor, sips the tea, and then quirks a brow at him.

"It is truly mind-boggling how disorganized you are, brother," he says as he pulls a handful of books into his lap and begins flipping them open, scanning over any relevant details with a flicker of gray eyes before sorting them into the appropriate pile. 

Dante shrugs. "Hey, you know me. That was always your strength, not mine."

Vergil simply hums in response, and Dante props himself up on his elbows against the back of the lounge so he can watch him work. As with everything else, Vergil works swiftly and efficiently--he looks through each book with a quick, perfunctory glance before adding it to one of his many piles. They appear to be sorted by subject, for now, although he knows he will categorize them further before they end up on the oak bookcases they installed along either wall.

It is interesting to watch him do this. It seems almost second nature to him with how quickly he sorts through everything, a testament to Vergil's perfectionism. He does nothing without aiming to master it entirely. Even something as simple as sorting old books is a task worthy of the utmost level of attention and detail.

It’s reflected in the neat piles of books that tower around him, in the tiny details that reveal his level of dedication. Spread open on Vergil's lap is a small black notebook in which he jots down brief notes while he sorts the piles. Dante's not really sure what he's keeping track of, nor does he really care, but he does know that it's charming. His brother has made such an official task out of organizing these books when all Dante would've done is just shove them on the shelves so they were off the floor. 

He expresses this opinion to his twin now: "Wouldn't it just be easier to put them away as is? It's already better than what I had going on before."

The look Vergil shoots him is withering, expressing his exasperation for the haphazard way Dante approaches most things. Dante grins with all of his teeth in response, always delighted to earn his brother's attention, no matter what form it takes. He loves it when he can break through Vergil's impassivity.

"And how would you find anything afterward? That would be no better than shoving them under your bed again," Vergil says, as if he is scolding a child. Dante doesn't mind too much, even though he probably should ( _condescending asshole_ ), because it’s Vergil. That’s just how he is. 

Dante lets the jab go without rising to the bait, which means Vergil quietly settles back into his work, pausing only to sip the tea that Dante brought him. Dante watches him from the chaise lounge for a little while, enjoying the soothing sound of his pen scratching across paper and the gentle thump of books as they join the various piles.

It's incredible, really, that he's been so lucky to be able to settle into a (relatively) normal and mundane life with his twin. Watching Vergil work makes his chest flush with a rush of warmth, an overwhelming feeling which brings and unstoppable smile to his face. He loves this so much. He loves _him_ so much.

"You're staring at me," Vergil states dryly as he climbs to his feet to deposit a sorted stack of books onto their assigned shelf. Dante swings his legs off of the chaise and follows after him, taking Vergil’s movement as an opening to greedily seek physical affection. 

"You seem to like this," Dante mutters as he loops his arms around Vergil's waist, careful not to get in the way of his work. He props his chin onto his brother's shoulder so he can watch as he sorts the books with deft hands. Vergil makes a small, thoughtful noise of agreement.

"It gives me something to focus on." His response is equally quiet, soft and measured. He is always like that when he talks about himself or his feelings, as if the concept is foreign to him and he is not quite sure how to approach it. Dante encourages him with a gentle press of his mouth to the side of his twin's neck--a soft and simple brush of lips over the flutter of his pulse before he pulls away. 

Vergil asks: "Do you remember that old bookstore?" and Dante laughs against his shoulder. 

"Yeah, I hated that place. You'd always go in there and spend _hours_ looking at books. I'd have to choose between following you around or grocery shopping with mom and it was always _the worst_."

For the first time in years, talking about his childhood is... maybe not _easy_ , but not as difficult as it once was, either. Knowing that Vergil shares the experience with him allows him to put forth only what he has the emotional capacity to offer. He doesn’t need to struggle to explain context or history, things that would make the ache of their loss open wide and consume him. He says only what he can stand to say, knowing that Vergil will understand him either way. These little reminiscing conversations between them have been strangely therapeutic, like draining a wound to relieve pressure. Their healing is a slow and steady thing, but he feels as if they are making progress; these conversations are proof of that.

"I lived there. After..." Vergil trails off, going quiet as he considers how much he wants to say about that, before he opts for vagueness: "After. For a while, at least. I could think of nowhere else to go." There is another small pause while he loses himself in that memory, and Dante leaves him to it for a time, letting it run its course.

He finishes his thought quietly, more to the books than to Dante: "I suppose it reminds me of that."

"Oh," Dante says, unsure what else to say, tightening his grip a little. This is the first tidbit of information about Vergil’s childhood that Dante has ever received, and he locks it away into his memory, another little piece of the puzzle that is his brother. Rediscovering Vergil is a work in progress, but Dante cherishes it every step of the way.

Vergil finishes shelving the books, but he does not move away from the shelf. He is lost in thought and although Dante cannot see his face he knows the expression he must be making--eyes unfocused, lips drawn into a frown. 

Dante pulls him out of it by turning him around. He does not resist.

"So long as it's a good thing," he says. Vergil hesitates for only a small moment before he nods and lets out a breathy little laugh. 

“It was what it was,” he intones, looping his arms around Dante’s shoulders. “It could have been worse. I had limitless access to books and no obnoxious little brother to interrupt me.” 

Dante scoffs, pressing his forehead against Vergil’s, enjoying the warmth and comfort between them and allowing his touch to soothe this undoubtedly bittersweet memory for his brother. 

“Well, now I’m gonna interrupt you every single day just to make up for it,” he replies, smothering whatever response might’ve been rising to Vergil’s lips with a kiss. His twin leans against him, arms around his neck tightening to pull them flush against each other.

With a gentle press of his tongue he deepens the kiss, tasting the bitter black tea he’d brewed for Vergil in his mouth. Their tongues entwine in a languid battle for dominance, although Vergil does not try very hard to take control, content to let Dante lead in this. He secretly loves it when his brother is like this: thoughtful and quiet, willing to allow Dante to slip between the cracks in his stern facade to share an intimate moment such as this. 

Dante slides one hand up from Vergil’s waist to cup the base of his head and neck, guiding him to tilt his head so Dante can trail sloppy kisses along the strong line of Vergil’s jaw. Vergil inhales sharply through his nose, releasing his grip on Dante’s shoulders to allow him room to move. His fingers come instead to rest on Dante’s neck, firm and possessive. 

“So what you’re saying is I have my very own sexy librarian,” Dante says into the soft flesh beneath Vergil’s jaw. His twin’s fingers tighten on his neck, dull fingernails digging into skin hard enough to be a threat, and he laughs. “Don’t maul me over a joke, baby, I’m just teasing you.”

“I will stab you with this pen if you call me that again, Dante,” he responds, and although there is very little heat behind his words Dante does not doubt that he would go straight for the jugular. Tossing out all of the nearby books when his blood ruins them would be such a waste of Vergil’s hard work, so he supposes he can behave. 

As an apology he presses a kiss to the crook of Vergil’s neck, letting his fangs gently graze against flesh in a way he knows Vergil likes. He is rewarded with another quiet inhale of breath and a gentle hum of appreciation. 

“I love this,” Dante says, overwhelmed suddenly with a love for his brother that goes deeper than his sexual desires for him, than their familial bond. Having his other half once more in his arms, whole and healthy, is a dream come true. He needs Vergil to know that as desperately as he needs air to breath. “I love you.” This second confession is quiet, whispered only into their shared space, pressed into Vergil’s skin with his mouth. 

“And I, you,” Vergil replies, pulling Dante back from his neck so he can briefly meet his eyes. They look at each other for a moment, as if to take measure of the truth of their shared words, before Vergil pulls him into another kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I needed a bit of a break from Carrion Flowers and this is what my brain spat out. I don't claim to understand the whims of this darn thing I just let it do what it wants.


	3. takeout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vergil is tired of eating pizza. Dante thinks that might be the craziest thing he’s ever heard in his life, but he’s willing to let his brother have his way every so often if it means maintaining the peace between them.

“I refuse to eat pizza again,” Vergil says, on what is assuredly going to become the worst day of Dante’s life. The devil hunter drops the phone back onto the receiver in shock, staring at his older brother with a look of utter disbelief. Vergil is perched on the couch, fiddling with the clunky old hand-me-down laptop that Nero has just recently given him, not looking at Dante as he makes the most absurd declaration ever to be uttered in the Devil May Cry shop.

“No one gets tired of eating pizza, Verg. It’s the best—” he’s cut off by a derisive snort.

“‘The best food in the world,’ yes, I’ve heard. And I _am_ tired of it.”

Date stares at him like he’s gone mad, like he’s declared that he is going to storm out of the front door and raise a third tower-like object to add to his collection. The level of betrayal Dante feels in this moment is roughly equivalent, in his opinion. The cardinal sins: opening hellgates and smack-talking pizza.

“You eat once a week. I think that means your opinion is invalid,” Dante says, trying a different approach to dissuade his brother away from this madness. Vergil glances up at him over the edge of his computer, the light blue glow of the screen making his eyes eerily bright and pale.

“On the contrary, I think that means I should be able to decide what my one meal is,” he replies, closing the laptop with a little click before pushing it off of his lap and onto the couch cushion beside him. He crosses his arms and levels a look at Dante that is clearly meant to stifle any further arguments. Dante groans, knowing what that look means—Vergil would rather cut Dante's arm off than let him pick up that phone and order pizza. Pizza night will have to wait.

“Fine. What do you want, then?” 

The question seems to catch Vergil off guard—for all his complaining about Dante’s choice of breakfast, lunch, and dinner, it’s almost as if he has no real clue what he’d want instead. His brow creases as he considers the question, before he finally shrugs.

“Anything else.” 

Oh no, Dante is not playing this game.

“Nope, if you shoot down pizza you gotta give me a replacement or I’m just gonna order it anyway. I’m not about to play some kinda coy ‘whatever you want is fine, honey’ game with you,” Dante says, grinning in delight at the splash of color that briefly stains Vergil’s cheeks, no doubt at the pet name. He desperately hates it whenever Dante calls him one of his many reserved nicknames, which means that Dante strives to weave them into any and all conversations. He’s been stabbed over it more times than he can count, but the faintest hint of a blush will always make it worth it, as far as he’s concerned.

Vergil continues to stare at him, failing once more to answer the question, and Dante reaches for the phone to make his point. A summoned sword narrowly misses his wrist (no doubt intentionally missing) before embedding itself in the far wall. Dante laughs.

“You’ve got two minutes to come up with a better suggestion. I’m not afraid to get stabbed for pizza.”

When Vergil still makes no move to say anything, Dante sighs, kicking open the lowest drawer in his desk. It is a complete disaster of old take-out menus, napkins, sauce packets, and little pouches of salt and pepper that are undoubtedly at least five years old, but he manages to dig out a few menus that are reasonably recent. At least, the restaurants still exist, he’s seen them on the rare occasion he can convince himself to go into town.

“Pick something,” he says, whipping the menus across the room directly at Vergil’s face. He catches them easily, rolling his eyes at Dante’s display. 

“Why must you always be so childish,” Vergil grumbles before he switches to ignoring Dante in favor of flipping through the menus that he’s sent careening into his lap. Dante watches him, thinking, as always, of how incredibly lucky he is to have Vergil back in his life. His brother makes him crazy in every possible definition of the word, and for all his whining and complaining, he really wouldn't have it any other way.

After what is definitely far too long to spend pouring over shitty take out menus, Vergil finally tosses one back to Dante, managing to aim well enough that it lands directly in front of him on the desk. Face-up and right-side-up, even. Dante laughs—they used to do this kind of shit all the time as kids, throwing things and seeing if they could catch them out of mid-air, testing each other’s reflexes just for the hell of it. Simple, stupid tricks to pass the time and explore the limits of their inhuman capabilities.

The simplicity of it, the familiarity, makes Dante’s chest flush with long-dormant warmth, a sensation that has become more and more frequent as he continues reshaping his life with Vergil once more a part of it. It is the small things that he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much—the self-satisfied smirk when Vergil manages to one-up him somehow; the unguarded look of amusement when Dante responds in kind; the way they bounce off of each other not only with swords but with a little friendly competition and love.

His brother clears his throat from across the room and Dante blinks to bring himself back to the present day. This, too, is something they have become adept at: the art of dragging each other back to reality whenever needed. He shoots Vergil a grin.

“Nice shot,” he says, picking up the menu so he can read the name of the restaurant his strict and fussy older brother has selected. “A noodle place? Kinda figured you’d pick something a little fancier.” 

Vergil huffs at him in a way that clearly indicates that noodles are plenty fancy, to which Dante just shrugs. Noodles aren’t pizza, so Dante’s never really given a shit about them, but he thinks he can deal with it if it means he avoids Vergil’s complaining for once. Dante flips through the menu of “Asian inspired noodle dishes," scanning for something that might be worth eating. Maybe he should just get a few random things—he’s got no idea what Vergil would like, and it never hurts to have some leftovers. 

He places the order with a quick call, then digs through his desk drawers for the cash to pay the delivery person when they arrive. Vergil’s “organized” his shit again, which really just means he’s shoveled it from the top of the desk into a random drawer for the sake of appearances; he has to dig through far too many past-due bills and pizza order receipts to find the little wad of cash he stashes down there. 

“Verg, stop cleaning my desk, I can never find anything afterward,” Dante whines as he pulls a couple of bills out of the wad before tossing it haphazardly back into its respective drawer. He snaps it shut with his knee before standing to stretch, popping the knots out of his back and neck noisily with an exaggerated yawn. That earns him a stern glare over the edge of the laptop his brother has once more begun trying to decipher, and Dante grins deviously at him, sauntering over to the couch to drop heavily beside his brother. The old furniture and creaky floorboards join Vergil in a groan of complaint, but Dante ignores them all to lean the entirety of his weight against Vergil’s side. 

“So, did you figure out all of the secrets to computers yet?” Dante asks, craning his neck to spy at whatever it is Vergil's currently doing. He swipes at Dante with his free hand, pushing against his shoulder in a bid to force him away and out of his personal bubble, but Dante stands his ground. He loops an arm through his brother’s instead and tucks his chin on his shoulder. 

On the computer, Vergil appears to be playing some kind of card game, and Dante snorts in amusement. All that seriousness and he’s sitting here playing games? Dante kind of can’t believe it—he’d figured Vergil would have been doing something more productive with his time, like cataloging all their books or researching how to open another portal to hell or something. 

Vergil shoots him a glare out of the corner of his eye. “Don’t mock me.”

“Hey, I'm not judging. Just figured you’d be doing something, y’know, more important maybe,” he says, snuggling into Vergil’s side a little more firmly, seeking the warmth that always seems to simmer under his brother’s skin. For someone so cold and distant, Dante’s always found him incredibly warm and soft, especially in the fluffy black sweater he’s currently sporting. If they weren’t waiting for food to be delivered right now, Dante would drag Vergil into his lap and curl up for a nice little afternoon nap. 

“Nero said we have to ‘wire the shop with internet’ before I can do anything truly useful with it,” Vergil explains as he clicks away, sorting virtual cards into little piles, never once looking at Dante as he talks. Maybe he shouldn’t let his brother have this damn laptop, if he’s just going to ignore Dante for it. 

“Yeah, right, I remember that. Shit’s expensive, though,” Dante complains, reaching over to tap at some of the worn away keys on the keyboard just to be a nuisance. It doesn’t do anything on the screen, but it does make Vergil growl and bat at him once more in annoyance—which, really, is a reward all itself—and so Dante moves on from that pursuit to instead draw little circles into the side of Vergil’s thigh with his fingertips. 

“It could be useful,” Vergil says patiently, as if he’s talking to a child. “You barely get enough jobs to pay your current bills. A new avenue for work might help you finally pay off all of that debt you owe Mary.”

"Lady, Verg. Do you really want her to shoot you in the head again?" Vergil just shrugs.

Obvious disrespect for his friend aside, Vergil might have a bit of a point. The kid's been getting more work than he has lately, and he suspects that his old-fashioned approach to the whole demon hunter gig might be a part of the problem.

Not that Dante’s going to tell Vergil that he might be right, not when he’s having too much fun poking at his twin to try to rile him up. He does file it away for future reference, though; he’ll have to get Nero or Nico to come over to explain what he has to do to “wire up” an Internet.

Maybe ignoring the steadily increasing prevalence of technology hadn’t been in his best interest, but god, it's just _so much work_. Whatever happened to meeting in seedy basement bars to swap demon hunting leads with a bunch of other unsavory characters, huh? That was easy, you knew what you were getting—the bar only ended shot up or blown up, like, half of the time, and that was the fun part.

The sound of a fist knocking on the front door breaks Dante out of his sulky little trip down memory lane, and he untangles himself from his brother's side to greet the delivery person at the door. He pays the kid with a quick thanks, tells them to keep the change (which earns him a wide-eyed look of surprise, but Dante's got a weak spot for tipping way more than he really should), and grabs up the several bags of food he ordered. He kicks the door shut and then saunters over to the wet bar, depositing the plastic bags on top before heading to the kitchen to dig up some plates or bowls.

When he gets back to the lobby, Vergil is already at the bar, pulling open plastic bags and sitting the various bowls and boxes of noodles out in a neat and perfect line. He's sat one bowl aside for himself—Dante sneaks a peek at it as he circles around the bar to dig up something to drink, noting with amusement that he's grabbed the tempura udon. He files that tidbit away for future reference, pleased to have added another "Vergil fact" to his slowly growing knowledge bank.

Dante grabs a bottle of whiskey and two reasonably clean tumblers, filling them with ice from the small fridge beneath the bar. He pours them both a drink, slides one before Vergil, and then circles back around to pull out the bar stool next to his brother, settling in with a little sigh of contentment.

This is nice. He doesn't think it's ever going to stop being nice, honestly—sitting together like this in amiable silence, sharing a drink and a meal, coexisting in a simple and mundane way that they haven't since they were eight years old. Dante reaches past Vergil to snatch a box of some spicy smelling fried noodle dish, not really caring what he gets, and the way Vergil effortlessly moves around him to accommodate his reach makes a smile bloom over Dante's face. It's so... simple. Domestic. Jesus, who would've ever thought they'd end up here.

Dante pops open his box of noodles, stabbing at them with a plastic fork (chop sticks are way too much effort for cheap "Asian inspired" take out) and scooping up an absurdly large fork full. He watches Vergil eat his udon (he is, of course, using chop sticks) without bothering to even mask the fact that he is openly staring at his brother, mesmerized by the sight of him. Vergil, here of his own choice, eating cheap noodles and drinking cheap whiskey next to Dante. They've been living together for something like four months now and it has yet to lose its novelty.

"Stop staring," Vergil chides, pointing at him threateningly with his chop sticks.

"No," Dante responds before shoveling his noodles into his mouth and then leaning over, fork in hand. Around a mouth full of spicy rice noodles and chicken he says: "Gimme one of those shrimp."

"Get your own," Vergil replies, pulling the styrofoam bowl of udon closer to his chest, glaring at Dante through narrowed eyes. When Dante leans forward to reach for one of the tempura shrimp anyway, Vergil stabs him mercilessly in the back of the hand with his chopsticks, hard enough to temporarily leave a little red mark. Dante makes a show of shaking his hand and whining noisily about how much it hurt, hamming it up just to irritate Vergil further; when he hears the familiar metallic ring of a summoned sword forming above his head he drops the theatrics with a laugh and a raised hand, conceding defeat.

They finish the rest of their meal in amiable silence, Vergil rising once they're finished to pack up any leftovers and carry them to the kitchen. While he cleans up, Dante pours them both another drink, depositing Vergil's on the arm of the couch where he normally settles in before taking up residence on the remainder of the sofa. He stretches out languorously, legs spread out on the couch and arms folded behind his head—when Vergil rejoins him, he lifts his feet long enough to let his twin settle into his designated spot before he drops them into his lap with a contented sigh.

Vergil doesn't complain; instead, he reaches for the book he's been reading that he keeps on the small table beside the couch, takes a sip of his whiskey, and then rests his hand on Dante's shin, absently running his thumb back and and forth in a small line as he makes himself comfortable. Dante nearly purrs in bliss—happy and fed, with his family at his side and the warm glow of liquor buzzing through his veins, he is the most relaxed he's been in probably twenty-five years. He watches Vergil read his book, lifting his hand from Dante's shin only to sip leisurely at his whiskey every so often, and the sight makes Dante's chest and face flush with a consuming warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol they're drinking.

"This is nice," he says, drawing Vergil's attention away from his novel and instead to Dante's face. His brother looks at him without expression for a split second before a small, genuine smile curls at the corners of his lips and lights up his eyes, cranking up that warmth in Dante's chest a hundred fold.

"It is," he agrees, squeezing Dante's leg gently to punctuate his words. Comfortable silence once more falls over them, and Dante, for once, lets it run its course, reveling in the peace and quiet that has slowly begun making itself a permanent feature of his life. Dante can even forgive Vergil for refusing to let him order pizza, so long as it means he gets to enjoy a gentle moment like this as often as possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Des’ one hot tip to combat your own depression: write about DV being domestic and cute and stupid together. 
> 
> I refuse to believe that Vergil would make productive use of a computer. As soon as he gets internet access he’s going to be playing hidden object games on Facebook, sending friend requests for more energy all day long until Nero deactivates his account to save them all from the ceaseless notifications and you all know it. 
> 
> Okay maybe he’ll make productive use SOMETIMES but he’s still a dumbass middle-aged dad and he’s going to do dumb dad shit with a laptop JUST LET ME HAVE THIS OKAY.
> 
> They’re cute and dumb I love them. 
> 
> Wanna hear me talk about headcanons, post fic updates, or share DMC3 and 5 screenshots? Follow me on twitter: [desalwayscries](https://twitter.com/desalwayscries).


	4. midnight snacks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new habit: Dante brings home sweet treats for Vergil to sample when he's gone on a job too long.

Dante sits the styrofoam cup upon the desk between Vergil and his latest research project with a triumphant crow, tapping him on the side of the head with a paper wrapped straw for good measure, to ensure he has his brother's attention.

"You'll love this one," he says, as Vergil snatches the straw and draws the cup closer, eyeing Dante with mild annoyance and trepidation for interrupting his work. He lifts the plastic lid with his thumb and peers in at the blend of milk and ice cream warily, as if he expects it to bite him. Leaning close and taking a subtle sniff, however, makes his brows raise in approval, and Dante can guess why--his brother's a coffee addict, and this particular concoction has a liberal amount of coffee blended in, the scent unmistakable even through the overwhelming sweetness of chocolate syrup and milk.

Dante's gotten pretty used to Vergil's weirder habits by now, born from years spent in the demon world and living by demon rules, so he doesn't mock his brother for the unnecessary inspection. He simply watches, vaguely amused, as Vergil re-affixes the plastic lid, suitably convinced that the treat is indeed edible, and carefully unwraps the straw. For all his prudishness and composure, he can't resist the temptation to ball the wrapper up and toss it at Dante's face, and Dante laughs as it bounces off of his cheek, catching it in his palm before it can fall to the floor.

"Real funny," he says, tossing the wrapper onto Vergil's desk, and Vergil smirks in response as he stabs the straw through the appropriate hole in the lid as if he means to murder the damn milkshake, the psycho, before taking a small sip. As soon as he gets a taste he hums thoughtfully, going in for seconds before pausing to shoot Dante a quizzical look.

Dante picks up on what his brother wants to ask without him saying it--he's not sure what it is, exactly, can't quite dredge up the name of it out of his tattered memories and half-lived experiences. Dante takes pity on him, although he hides it behind a laugh and his actions, bending down to wrap his arms around Vergil's shoulders from behind. He uses the position to lean over his brother and grab the straw between his teeth, stealing a sip of the milkshake before Vergil can pull it away with a huff.

"Cafe Marie's famous mocha milkshake, extra coffee, extra chocolate," Dante says, grimacing a little at the bittersweet taste of said coffee. Never been big into coffee himself, but Vergil seems to thrive on the stuff, and it is a treat for him, after all, a late-night gift to make up for Dante's time away on a job. 

It's a new habit Dante's developed, one Vergil's clearly fond of, although he hasn't expressed so much in words. Dante tends to get home late in the night from most jobs (demons do prefer the comfort of darkness, after all), and on the way he'll stop at the twenty-four hour cafe and bakery near by, picking out a random sweet treat for Vergil to try. Assorted things--smoothies, milkshakes, cakes, cookies--anything that catches his eye that he thinks might suit Vergil's tastes. Vergil doesn't remember... much, Dante's learning, his memories either absent or incorrect after everything that's happened to him, but his tastes haven't changed from his childhood in one important way, which is to say he still has a voracious sweet tooth. 

Learning what he likes in the dessert department is mundane and ultimately pointless, which means it's the perfect starting point for helping Vergil rediscover the human world and his place in it. It's grounding for them both, giving Dante something inane and, more importantly, _human_ to learn about his brother while giving Vergil something to indulge in every once in a while, a distraction from the less pleasant problems he faces on a regular basis. 

Vergil takes another sip, a small smile quirking at the corners of his lips in satisfaction. "It's good."

"That's it? Just good?" Dante presses his face to Vergil's, cheek to cheek, arms tightening around his shoulders, and Vergil reaches up with his other hand to rest it gently on Dante's forearm.

"Better than the last one," Vergil adds, and Dante feigns injury, gasping and pulling away from Vergil's face to fix him with his most incredulous stare.

"Still can't believe you don't like strawberry smoothies. How are you even my twin? I'm wounded."

Vergil rolls his eyes at Dante's theatrics, twisting in his arms enough that he can slip a hand into Dante's hair, nails scratching gently along his scalp as he pulls him close. He nuzzles at the corner of Dante’s mouth, questioning, and Dante parts his lips with a pleased hum, savoring the sweetness in their kiss, the slight tinge of coffee bitterness. Vergil kisses him slowly, thoughtfully, exploring every corner of his mouth, stroking his tongue along Dante’s with a gentle noise of pleasure. It still amazes Dante, this slow, sensual side to his brother, and he takes great enjoyment out of savoring the kiss, sucking on Vergil’s tongue as he maps out the details of his mouth with focus. 

They separate only when the need for air outweighs their desire, but still Vergil keeps him close, panting softly into the space between their mouths. “Thank you,” he whispers, pressing one final kiss to Dante’s lower lip before backing away, releasing Dante’s hair and straightening back in his chair. 

Dante just laughs. If that's the response he can expect every time he hits the jackpot with his dessert choices, then he's going to have to come up with creative ways to keep this trend going. For now, he gives Vergil one last hug for good measure, pressing a kiss to the side of Vergil's head before he pulls away, too.

"Don't mention it." Dante stretches, cracking his back and shaking off the lingering soreness from his job. Man, he must be getting old. "Got any requests for next time?"

"I think I prefer the surprise."

"Shocking," Dante says, although he supposes that might just be Vergil-ese for "I don't care either way." He's still a mystery sometimes, despite all the progress they've made, but Dante's never minded that much. Keeps things interesting.

Dante leaves Vergil to enjoy his milkshake while he goes to get changed and cleaned up from the job, scanning his mental checklist for what items he's already brought and what else the cafe serves that might be worthy of Vergil's attention. He hasn't tried those little chocolate brownie things yet, has he? Dante can't really remember, but they were always his personal favorite, so a dozen of those in the house wouldn't be the worst thing to happen. They'll have to start branching out after a while, or he'll run out of treats to buy at Marie's--

and then he stops himself, because that line of thinking is so disgustingly domestic that he's momentarily shocked by himself. God, when did they end up like some old couple?

It's not a _bad_ thing to have happened, he supposes. Better than where they were before. Impossible in a way he'd never anticipated, but welcomed. A new life, new direction, new focus. Crazy how it took one last battle to the near death to get them here.

Shit. 

He must be getting old--he's turning in to a sap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can find me over on [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/desalwayscries)


End file.
